


Cards on the Table (We’re Both Showing Hearts)

by one_of_those_crushing_scenes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, Mockingbird (Comic)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Because you've got to work for your schmoop, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Hotel Sex, Lampshade Hanging, Oh no there's only one bed, POV Bobbi Morse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reconciliation, Schmoop, Smut, Tropes, Very vague references to Phantom Rider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 10:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15046961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/pseuds/one_of_those_crushing_scenes
Summary: After a quinjet is a casualty of a battle far from home, Clint Barton and Bobbi Morse manage to find a hotel with... you guessed it, just one room left. The only problem is, Bobbi is genre savvy. But...maybe that's not such a problem.





	Cards on the Table (We’re Both Showing Hearts)

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever get tired of writing canon-compliant Hawkingbird reconciliation one-shots? My sources say no.
> 
> Title is from [All of Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=450p7goxZqg) by John Legend.
> 
> Note that this fic works better if you regard Chelsea Cain’s Mockingbird series as fuzzy canon, which is my preference to begin with.

By the time the last of the flying mini-robots were taken out, Bobbi felt like she’d been fighting for hours. There were so many of them, and they moved like hummingbirds—hovering fairly still in the air, disguising themselves as easy targets... but at the last second, they would dodge her strikes, shifting so quickly and with such agility, it was hard to believe that they were made of metal. One of them had shot a hole through her wings with its laser, grounding her for the rest of the fight. She was just grateful that she and Clint were in one piece.

An arrow whizzed through the air, and there was a small explosion, knocking out two of them at once. They clattered to the ground, and suddenly, the street was hauntingly silent. Bobbi and Clint glanced at each other, then rearranged themselves to stand back to back and started to check out the area, making sure none of the little pests were left.

“I think we’re safe,” Bobbi said, after doing a sweep. “I don’t hear anything, either.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s it.”

Bobbi walked over to a fallen robot and picked it up. It was shaped somewhere between a sphere and a rounded cube, with a black circle on each side that she guessed contained sensors and a hole where the lasers had come from. “I’m guessing Tony will want to take a look at one of them.” She looked up and saw Clint standing next to the still-smoking hull of the quinjet they’d arrived in.

“So, uh...” Clint jerked his thumb towards the ex-quinjet. “Looks like we’re not making it back to New York tonight.”

“Wonderful,” Bobbi said.

\--

The woman at the front desk of the hotel did a double-take when she saw them walk in. Whether she recognized them in their costumes, or was reacting to their filthy and probably bloody battle-worn state, or maybe just because she was taken by surprise by people showing up in the middle of the night, her eyes widened and she jumped up from her seat to greet them as they approached the desk.

“Hi!” she said. “How can I help you?”

“Do you have any vacancies?” Bobbi asked. Next to her, Clint picked up a pen from an open guest book and started to click it rapidly; Bobbi swatted his hand and he stopped.

The woman made an apologetic face. “I wish I’d known in advance; this month is so busy and I’d hate to turn you away. But let me check.” She started typing on the computer in front of her.

Bobbi was exhausted; weary to her bones. The battle had definitely tested her reflexes and her ability to get back up after being knocked down, and she wasn’t young enough that staying up until two in the morning was something that was easy for her even on a normal day. Clint looked the same next to her. He stood against the wall and leaned his head back against it, closing his eyes and yawning, not bothering to cover his mouth.

“I’m so sorry we just showed up like this,” Bobbi said to the woman. “We kind of just got stuck.”

The woman nodded, looking at the screen, and did something with the mouse. Clint yawned again, which made Bobbi yawn, which made Clint yawn.

The woman looked up with a smile. “You’re in luck! We have one last room available.”

\--

Bobbi sighed.

“It’s just a bed, you know,” Clint said, pacing back and forth across the carpet.

Bobbi didn’t look at him. “It’s not just a bed.”

“You’ve been glaring at it for the past five minutes as if it’s going to come to life and stand up on its hind legs and attack us with its...I don’t know, even, it’s a _bed_. What’s it going to do—snuggle us to death?”

“What we need to do right now is to rest and then get back to New York to update the Avengers, and we both know that if we both get into that bed—” she pointed for emphasis, “—it's going to end in sex. You know it; I know it. Hotel rooms exist in a dimension outside of time and space where consequences seem like they don't exist, until you leave the room and remember that, oh yeah, they do.” 

“Uh-huh.” Finally done with the pacing, he pulled his quiver over his head and dropped into the chair across from her, running his fingers through his hair. “What you’re not taking into account is the fact that right now, I’m too tired to even think about sex, and that’s coming from _me_.”

“That’s what you think now, because you haven’t gotten into the bed yet.”

He raised his eyebrows.

She sighed again. “You don’t understand. What you want right now has nothing to do with what you want when you’re in a bed with the other person next to you and you’re aware of every breath, every movement, and you can’t sleep, and you can’t close your eyes because—”

“Are you about to start singing ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing?’ Just asking so that I know when to start recording.” He patted the front pocket of his pants, where he kept his phone.

“Laugh if you want to.”

“You have to admit, it sounds like you’re being, I don’t know, superstitious or something, which is not the Bobbi Morse I know—”

“It’s not _superstition_ , it’s human nature—”

“—and anyway, if _that’s_ the worst case scenario—I mean, let’s be scientific about it, Dr. Morse.”

She nodded. “Let’s.”

“Okay.” He held up a single finger. “Possibility number one: We go to sleep in the bed. We’re exhausted. We wake up in the morning. We get out of bed and go home. No funny business. It’s possible—no, it's a possibility, okay?” he insisted, as she opened her mouth. “Possibility number two: We get into the bed and we're suddenly overcome by lust. We have sex. It’s awesome, because it always is between us. We both get what we need. Hey, maybe we even get back together. Maybe we live happily ever after. It could happen.”

Bobbi leaned back in her chair, raising her eyebrows. “And those... those are the only two possible outcomes you see?”

He crossed his arms. “Okay, then, what’s the outcome you see, the one that’s got you so freaked you’re willing to sit upright in that chair until the sun comes up rather than risk a decent night’s sleep?”

The outcome that she saw. Falling for him again, jumping back into this cycle of believing that they could work, until the next time he freaked out and split because the real Bobbi Morse didn’t live up to the image he'd carried around all those years as a widower. Because flesh and blood could never compete with the memory of the perfect dead (Skrull) wife who'd died to protect him.

Why was she so bitter about this? It had been _years_.

It must have been the exhaustion. She would never say any of this out loud, had never even dared to think it before, but right now, any mechanism in her brain that would usually have stopped that train of thought before it took off was too tired to fulfill its function.

“Bobbi?” he said, a touch of concern in his voice, like it was starting to sink in that she wasn't joking.

She swallowed hard and looked up at him. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m just being overly cautious.”

He still looked troubled. “You...trust me, don’t you? To keep my hands to myself?”

“Yeah, of course, Clint.” If he thought that she thought that he would—then maybe they had even more troubles than she'd thought. “That thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Still, if you’re uncomfortable, I’m sure I can fall asleep on the floor—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She wasn't convinced that it would be, but she would give it a try.

“Okay.” He stood up and arranged his bow and quiver upright against the wall. “You want the first bathroom?”

“Sure.” She pulled off her mask and tossed it onto the desk, then fingered the belt buckle on her suit. “I wish I had something to change into—this tac suit is not going to be comfortable for sleeping in. Do you think the front desk would send something up if we asked?”

Clint looked up from next to the desk, where he was in the middle of taking his boots off. “I don’t think anything’s open this late at night. Pretty sure we’re stuck with what we brought with us.”

He was probably right. “Damn.”

“Want my shirt? It’s basically just a tee. I know it’s not clean, but...”

Sleeping in the same bed as him, wearing his shirt while he slept shirtless...there was no way this was going to end well.

“Unless you have a better idea,” he added.

She really didn’t. “I’ll take it. Thanks.” She held her hand out, and Clint pulled his shirt off and tossed it at her.

She didn't let herself look, turning away as soon as she had the shirt in hand and going into the bathroom to change. Once she’d gotten the door locked behind her, she took a whiff—it wasn’t too sweaty, which was a relief, but it did have Clint’s smell. With no one there to watch or judge her, she allowed herself to bunch up the fabric under her nose and breathe it in for an extra few seconds.

She peeled the tac suit from her body and wriggled out of her bra and underwear, then took a quick shower to freshen up. It wasn't ideal, since she needed to get back into the same underwear she'd worn all day, and Clint's shirt was hardly Downy-fresh, but it helped, a little. She put it on and took a look in the mirror. 

It was like a punch in the stomach.

The shirt she was wearing was Clint's new costume, one he hadn't adopted until a few months after they'd broken up. The grey t-shirt, the purple chevron—it wasn’t an association she had from their time together, any of their times together. In fact, it sometimes felt like the Hawkeye who wore this costume was a completely different person from her Hawkeye. It had crossed her mind to wonder if he'd done it on purpose—new relationship status, new wardrobe. Time to put the past behind him.

Still, despite it all, it was kind of thrilling, being wrapped up in something that was so obviously, visibly _his_. Clint clearly thought so, too, based on the way his eyes widened when she walked out of the bathroom. He looked her up and down a couple of times, while she tried to look casual and pretend her heart wasn't racing in her chest.

“It, uh... fits,” Clint finally croaked out. 

Yeah, it fit. Any shirt that could fit around the shoulders of someone whose bow with a two-fifty pound draw weight would fit on her as well. But she couldn’t blame him for not being slick—if she opened her mouth to speak right now, she was sure something even less coherent would come out. She hadn’t looked at his bare chest before, but now, he was right there, and there was no sense in trying to cultivate a false picture of modesty by averting her eyes—that would have been even more conspicuous. So she returned the once-over, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, the way the skin stretched over muscle and led down to his firm pecs and the smattering of golden hair in between. She knew how sensitive those nipples were, the way they tightened up and the sounds he made when she grazed them with her fingernails.

She couldn't let her stare linger for too long without being obvious, so she shook it off and met his eyes. “Thanks for the loan.”

“Sure thing.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, and her eyes were drawn to the stretch of his arms and the lines of muscle revealed on their underside. “I’m going to shower now. Don’t feel like you need to wait up or anything.”

That would probably be easier. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get out.” Or pretending, anyway.

“I’m still going to wake you up if you start snoring, though.” He gave her a tentative grin, which she returned, and then walked into the bathroom, giving her a few seconds to enjoy his shirtless back.

\--

Of course, _of course_ , her subconscious would pick this night for a Phantom Rider nightmare. In the dream, he was chasing her, and she'd forgotten how to fight, so she was running, but her shoes fell off, and her socks disappeared, and the sun-heated pavement was burning her feet, but she kept running, running, running. The Phantom appeared suddenly, ten feet in front of her, and in desperation, she leaped into the air—

—and then she was awake.

She hadn't struggled or cried out from the nightmare, and Clint was still sleeping peacefully, albeit closer to her than he had been at the beginning of the night. But that was to be expected—they always gravitated towards each other.

His hair fell across his forehead, covering his eyebrow, and he was leaning on his side, one arm out in front of him, curled up in the fetal position. He always slept like that, his hand reaching towards her, staying a few inches away from her face. They were both too prone to waking up if they slept touching, and this position was the closest they could ever come to it while still getting a good night's sleep.

The dream had faded within a few seconds of her waking, and she was distinctly aware of the room she was in. The hushed darkness, the plush bed, the rise and fall of his torso, half-covered by the blanket. She wanted to reach out and put her hand on his, to feel his strong fingers underneath her own, to explore his body and relearn it. 

Her changed breathing patterns must have awakened him, because a few seconds later, his eyes fluttered open, and a relaxed smile spread over his face. “Watching me sleep, Moxie?” Now there was a nickname she hadn't heard in a while.

“I just woke up myself,” she said, avoiding a direct answer. Of course, he had caught her watching him sleep, but that didn’t mean she needed to admit it.

He lifted his head slightly off the bed, resting it on his arm like he was settling in for a chat. In the darkness, in this bed, it almost felt like the two of them were the only people in the world. “How's your ‘sharing a bed’ theory?”

She sat up, letting the blanket fall to her legs. From this angle, he wouldn’t be able to read her lips, so she picked up her right hand and signed the word **« bathroom »** to him before getting up.

When she came back, Clint was sitting on his side of the bed, hearing aids in. She had avoided his question before, and of course he wasn't going to let it go that easily. 

“Would it really be that bad?” he asked.

Bobbi sighed. She walked over to the desk and leaned against it, facing him with her body but with her head tilted to the side, hair arranged to show her lips while hiding her expression.

“You think I'm just flirting,” Clint guessed.“That I don't take this—” he gestured between the two of them, “—seriously.”

“Well.” She pursed her lips, trying to figure out her own feelings. Did she think that Clint didn't take them seriously? “Maybe.”

“I do.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You realize that's coming out of nowhere, right? You never said anything before tonight.” At his skeptical look, she added, “Well, recently.”

“Maybe I've just been waiting for the right moment.”

“The right moment being a random night when we're stranded in the middle of nowhere and nothing good is on TV?” So to speak. They hadn't actually tried the television.

He picked up his pillow and set it down in his lap, resting an elbow on top and putting his chin in his hand as he looked at her. “It's just that we've been so busy, each of us with our own lives, we haven't had this opportunity. And I think... after all the craziness we've both been through over the past few years, maybe we're in a place where we can try again.”

She didn’t answer. _Try again_. Like she was some sort of test or 30-day fitness challenge. Was it really such a trial, putting up with her? _She_ liked herself. She’d spent thirty-five years in this body, with these strengths and flaws, and never once had she wanted to be anyone other than what she was.

He stood up, pushing back the blankets, walking over to her in just a pair of gray boxer shorts. “If it means anything,” he said, looking at her intently, close enough for her to reach out and touch, “I never stopped loving you.”

“It’s not that simple, Clint.” She sighed and pushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

He turned so that he was standing next to her, giving her space without moving away. Then he reached for the desk lamp and flipped the switch, creating a halo of dim light around them. “Tell me.”

So she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You made me _trust_ you,” she said. Oh God, this was really coming out, wasn't it. “When I came back from captivity. I’d started up the WCA, keeping it secret from you and the Avengers because I was afraid to give up even a modicum of control after what I’d been through, and _you_ —you were the one who convinced me it didn’t have to be that way. You told me I could rely on you, that you would always be there for me. And somehow, I found myself believing you.”

“Bobbi, you can’t think I didn’t mean it.” He set his hand behind her on the desk and angled his torso so that he was facing her, but kept his distance enough that she didn't feel like she was being encroached upon, something that would have made her immediately clam up.

Despite herself, she felt her body being pulled towards him, leaning in closer, seeking a connection. “I know you meant it at the time, but that doesn’t really make it easier, does it?” She swallowed and closed her eyes so she wouldn't need to see his face for the next part. “I tried...I tried to understand when you gave up on us—I tried to take the blame for it—but it was never really my fault, was it? I didn’t force you to take Crossfire’s eye out. You didn’t need my influence to start taking orders from Maria Hill. And it certainly wasn’t me who—” her voice broke off, stopping her before she could finish the thought, before she could use his killing Bruce against him in an argument, something she’d promised herself she would never do. “I’m sorry. My point is—”

“Your point is that I made a mistake in breaking it off between us.”

Her eyes flew open, and she looked up at him in surprise, feeling her breath catch in her throat.

“Yeah. I’ve been known to do that once in a while. I thought it was the right thing—honest to God, Bobbi, I thought I needed to do it, and if you think that walking away was easy for me, you’re wrong. It was a choice I made, and I thought it was necessary, I swear—otherwise I never would have been able to do it. But I miscalculated. And you’re right: all of the things I did, all those choices I made, they’re on me.”

The laugh that came out of her mouth had a sour taste to it. “This conversation is starting to feel too familiar.”

He put his free hand on the back of the chair next to him, leaning over and looking down. “It’s just like last time, isn’t it? And so was my mistake, in thinking that our differences were more important than everything we have in common. Me, Avenger; you, SHIELD agent. Me, black and white; you, shades of gray. I defined myself in opposition to you so that I could avoid facing the truth about myself.” She felt dizzy, hearing those words coming from his mouth. “I was wrong. And I'm sorry.”

Well. _Well_. That changed things.

Then again, it was easy to let him take all the blame, easy to stand on a pedestal and let him self-flagellate for every misstep he’d ever taken, let him kneel at her feet and decide whether or not to forgive him based on how sweetly he groveled.

But easy wasn’t how long-term relationships lasted.

“I let you walk away too easily,”Bobbi admitted. He looked up in surprise as she continued. “I told you that I believed you that you had my back, but the second you expressed doubts, I let go of you, in my head. Didn’t even fight for us. I told myself I was setting you free.”

“I never wanted to be free of you.”

She leaned back so that he could finally see her face and smirked at him. “Oh, you had your fun.”

“So did you,” he retorted with a grin. “Natasha told me about that dominatrix getup she caught you in—”

Bobbi waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, that old thing?”

His eyes darkened. “Do you still have it?” 

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’m just saying, if you want a second opinion...”

“Oh, I don’t take constructive criticism, sorry.”

He laughed. “She said it brought out your eyes.”

“Yeah, if you get too close,” she responded with a snort. 

He was imagining the outfit, she could tell; the hazy look in his eyes gave it away. “I'll have to get some safety goggles,” he said.

He sounded... serious. She swallowed. “Why, how close are you planning on getting?” 

Clint paused and slowly moved his hand from the desk, tentatively placing it on top of her own. He looked at her and waited for her to return his gaze, then said, “As close as you'll let me.”

 _Oh_. She was definitely going to take him back. There was no point in denying it; she was a goner.

An ill-timed yawn escaped from her throat, making him chuckle. “All right, all right. You're right; sleep is our first priority.”

\--

The next time she woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window, making the inner curtain glow. As she came to, the events of the night before came back to her quickly. Could it really be that easy? After everything they’d been through, could she and Clint have found their way back together?

She sat up, catching her reflection in the mirror over the desk. Her bed head was impressive but expected after falling asleep with her hair still wet. The sight of herself wearing Clint’s shirt made her stomach flip in a good way, even more so after their middle-of-the-night conversation.

But then again, what was it she’d said earlier? Hotel rooms were magical places where people made decisions without considering the consequences. Just because they’d admitted certain things in the safety of the dark...

In the mirror, Clint opened his eyes and yawned. He caught her eye and gave her a warm look, melting away her doubts. “Morning, Birdie.” He picked up his hearing aids from the top of the nightstand next to his pillow and put them in his ears, shuddering for a second as he always did when they went in.

She watched him through the mirror for a few seconds, then turned her head to see the real thing. The blanket had been pulled away from him when she'd sat up, and view of the sunlight hitting his chest was very appealing. She reached out and ran a finger down his breastbone, while he held himself still, allowing her to do what she wanted.

She took her hand from his chest and put it on his cheek. “Good morning.”

He smiled and reached for her, enveloping her in his arms, and kissed her on the mouth. “How'd you sleep?”

Who remembered? She was in his arms, and he was looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and sleep was the very last thing on her mind. His hands on her back were waking up some urges that had been suppressed the night before.

“Wanna make out?” she asked, trying to add a hint of mischief to her voice.

“Yes, please.” He didn't waste any time, putting his mouth on her collarbone and pressing small kisses all around it like a necklace. When he reached the outer edge, he licked a line up the side of her neck and moved back to her mouth.

Bobbi shivered as the air hit the wet spots he'd left on her neck. His hands wandered up her back, underneath his shirt, palms gliding along her skin, fingers running up her spine and tracing the lines of her shoulder blades. She arched her back, sighing contentedly.

Deciding to turn things around, she put her hands on his abdomen, running her fingers along the ridges of his six-pack, enjoying the way he hissed as she explored his skin. Knowing what would really get him going, she moved her hands upwards and skimmed her nails over his nipples, eliciting a groan from him. She did it again, loving the way his eyelids fluttered closed as he shuddered under her touch. Seeing the effect she had on him, the desire inside of her started to bubble up, looking for an outlet.

She pulled back a few inches. “You...um...didn't happen to bring a condom with you on this robot-fighting adventure, did you?”

He laughed. “I'm not that much of a cliché. But don't worry.” He reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer, where sat a condom in a silver wrapper. He tossed the condom onto his pillow and added, “I found it in the minibar last night when you were in the bathroom and brought it closer. Just in case.”

She laughed. “You know, once you take it out, you have to pay for it whether or not you use it.”

“I can afford it; I'm an Avenger.”

“All right, Big Spender. Let's make the most out of this five-dollar condom.”

She set a finger on his chest and pushed him back gently until he lay flat on the bed, smiling expectantly up at her. A warm and tingly feeling ran through her body, settling in her stomach. It was nice seeing him like this—willing, ready for whatever she wanted to do with him.

“Take your time,” Clint said wryly as he watched her watch him.

She grinned. “Just enjoying the view.” In response, he stretched his arms over his head, giving her an even better view of his muscles at work, and she hummed in approval.

Ready to begin, Bobbi climbed on top of him, his shirt brushing against her upper thighs, and seated herself strategically for maximum pleasure. He was hard already under his boxers, and she rocked against him once, twice, three times.

“God,” Clint said, his voice raspy. She did it again, and he groaned. “Keep going, baby. Take what you want.”

She leaned down to kiss him, and as she did, he reached underneath the hem of his shirt, tracing his fingertips over her belly. She shivered with delight at his touch, and he continued, running his nails up her sides and down her back, making goosebumps pop up all over her body. Finally, he grasped the edge of the shirt and started to pull it up. Bobbi raised her arms into the air to help him along, and once it was off, he tossed it to the side, letting it fall to the floor. He brought his hands up her front and cupped her breasts in his hands, running his thumbs along their sensitive undersides, her nipples tightening with need. Then, to her astonishment, he leaned forward and spoke directly to her breasts. “I knew I'd see you again.”

She burst out laughing and fell onto his chest, then rolled off so that they were lying next to each other.

When she looked at him, his eyes were sparkling. “Something funny?”

Bobbi snorted. “You’re such a goof.”

He grinned. “Tell me you love me, Birdie.”

“I love you.” She leaned in and nipped at his lower lip, then pulled back and soothed it with her thumb, rubbing gently at the spot where she'd bitten him. “And your dumb old sense of humor, too.”

“Yeah?” Clint reached out, pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. His pupils were huge black circles in his blue eyes, focused on her, and he looked as giddy and lovestruck as the day she’d married him. “What else do you love about me?”

“God, everything.” She paused for a second, gathering her thoughts so that she could give him a satisfying answer. “I love how you wear your vulnerability as strength, how you’re not afraid to love, because even if love ends, you’re better at the end for having tried. And you do try. You flew out with me to Aljaferia and you put your heart in my hands even though you knew the odds were against you.”

“I did do that, didn't I.” He shook his head. “I'm surprised you let me come along.”

“I guess I always knew we were better together than on our own,” she said, remembering how conflicted she'd been about letting him in again. Even though she'd ended up with her heart broken, she'd never regretted it.

He turned onto his side and let his eyes roam over her naked form. “Hey, let me see you.” He put one hand on her far shoulder and looked her up and down, taking in the drastic changes her body had gone through since the last time they'd done this. She was noticeably bigger and more muscle-bound than before, and she had the new wardrobe to prove it. It was one of the side effects of the super-soldier serum that had saved her life a few years ago.

His eyes crinkled and his mouth curved into an appreciative smile. “Damn.”

She could feel herself blushing. “Well, you've seen the before and after pictures of Steve from the forties, haven't you?”

“Not naked ones.” He looked her over again and bit his bottom lip. “If I said I want to make you the background picture on my phone, will that that totally ruin the mood?” 

She laughed. “I guess it was important enough to risk it.”

His expression grew serious. “Did it hurt?”

She shrugged. “I was in a coma for most of it. Some residual soreness. Beats being dead.” He still looked worried, so she tried to lighten the mood. “I considered sending you the bill for all the new clothing I needed.”

“You should have. I could have paid for it with my Zemo money.”

But Zemo—and the painful experiences that the money had been compensation for—was a topic for another time. After all, they didn't want a five-dollar condom going to waste. 

Bobbi reached for Clint, putting her hand on the back of his head and pulling him towards her for a kiss. This one was sweet and soft, an acknowledgment of everything they'd been through that had brought them to this moment.

His hand slipped down her front and traced a line along her hip underneath the strap of her underwear, coaxing a moan out of her. “These need to come off,” he said, his breath hot against her ear.

“Deal.” She pulled her legs in and pushed the panties down, then kicked them off. Not the sexiest performance, but it was as effective in getting her naked as anything else.

He brushed light kisses at the tip of each breast, once on each side, which only made her hunger grow. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. She needed _more_.

Then his hands were on either side of her, pushing up against the mattress, and he slid his body back up hers, the heat of his body boxing her in. He took one hand and swept the hair away from the side of her neck, and then he leaned forward and placed a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss right underneath her ear. His tongue was dancing over her skin, tracing the lines of her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Slowly, he covered her mound with his palm, achingly close to where she needed him the most, and he looked her in the eye and asked, “Can I?”

She was going to explode. “ _Anything_.”

His fingers dipped into her wet folds, thumb separating her labia, gliding along the sensitive skin. Bobbi whimpered, tilting her hips towards his hand.

Clint chuckled softly and kissed her shoulder while his fingers kept working softly on her. “You like that, Bobbi-bird?”

She shivered at the wet spot his kiss left behind. It wasn’t just his touch—it was _him_ —his presence in her bed after everything they’d been through, after all the tears and the lonely nights. And now he told her he’d never stopped loving her. She’d built up layers of protection for her heart, steel plates around her heart, convincing herself that she was better off alone. With every kiss, every touch, the armor was peeled away. She felt raw; fresh pink skin under a dead scab. 

When she didn’t answer, Clint moved his face to her temple and kissed her there. “Hey. You with me?”

A smile broke over her face. “Tell me you love me, Sport.”

He set his thumb against her clit, not pressing or rubbing, just announcing his presence. “I love you so much. The day I met you was the most blessed day of my life, and not just because I would have died in a vat of acid had you not been there.” She laughed, and he kept talking. “You inspire me—you’re the person I wish I was—and I know I haven’t always been great at showing it, but my heart belongs to you, now and always.” He used his free hand to wipe away a tear from her cheek—she blinked, trying to prevent a deluge—then slipped a finger inside of her and started to make a circle against her clit with his thumb.

She was a second away from shattering—emotionally or physically, she wasn’t sure. All of her doubts, every second of insecurity...it seemed so unimportant. And all the while, he stroked her cunt lazily, in no hurry to bring her off. “Can’t wait ‘til we get home and we can do this in our beds every day. See you against my sheets...see you in _your_ sheets. Do you still have that extensive vibrator collection?”

“Yeah, where would it have gone?” She tilted her pelvis, trying to increase the pressure, but he captured her hip with his free hand and pushed her flat against the bed to continue teasing her.

“Tsk. Patience.” He rose over her, sitting up on his knees in between her legs. She had to spread them apart to make space, giving him more access. He leaned slightly forward and supported himself with one hand, while the other continued working at her, spreading her wetness around. “Can’t wait to get my hands on it. The black one, for the g-spot, you still have it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That thing is my best friend. I can’t wait to use it on you again. Get it all nice and slick with lube, and just...” He put his thumb against her entrance and pressed lightly, barely inside, to demonstrate. “Just slide it home. Slide it in and out, take a minute just to fuck you with it, then turn it on and—”

She groaned, imagining it. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Hold it right where you want it and work you from the outside, watch you come apart from the inside out.”

Her cunt contracted, swollen and empty, and she dug her heels into the mattress, lifting herself up. “You sure talk a lot,” she said, panting. The picture he painted with his words...

He winked. “All right, message received. I’m going in to get a closer look.”

Before she could process that sentence, he pushed himself up on his forearms and moved down the mattress, settling in between her thighs. She could see the top of his head, including the mischievous look in his eyes. She shivered, feeling his warm breath on her skin.

“How’s it look?” she asked.

He started to stroke her pubic hair with his fingers, running his fingers over her mons, heightening her awareness of just how much she wanted him. “Looks wet,” he said. “Shiny. Like a present.”

What a silver tongue. If only he’d put it to better use.

The teasing became more daring as Clint traced the edges of her inner lips with his fingertips. She could feel herself growing wetter, her body begging to be touched, her cunt clenching around nothing, looking for some sort of relief. And he could see it from that angle, see how much she wanted him.

Her patience down to zero, she let out a frustrated scream. “Oh my God, Clint, put your mouth on me already.”

His eyes sparkled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And then he leaned in, setting his tongue firmly against her folds and licking into her. He held her open with his fingers to give him better access, but she was so wet that his fingers kept slipping, and he kept needing to adjust them to get them back into place. Every cell in her body sang out, her muscles relaxing, her mouth falling open on a sigh.

He nudged a finger inside her, then another one, dragging them back and forth. Wild sobs escaped from her mouth as she tried to hold onto the sheets, tried to ground herself in the reality of the bed and the hotel room and the real world, but it all slipped away under his mouth and his hands.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he whispered, pulling an inch back. His breath ghosted over her pussy, and all of a sudden, she felt his thumb sliding back, over her perineum, then circling her back entrance. Just how she liked it. Just how he knew she liked it. She was going to combust, just go up in flames and turn to nothing, and it would all be worth it.

“God, Clint.” She shook, so close to the precipice she could practically _see_ her approaching orgasm.

“Yeah, there we go. You taste—you taste so good. I could do this all day. Just keep giving me more to lick up, and I’ll keep doing it.” Another swipe of his tongue. “Just like that.”

His thumb over her asshole, gently teasing, sent sparks of pleasure through her body, and each time he licked her, she could feel herself melting further and further.

“You’re getting so close,” he said, words hot against her clit. “I can tell. You’re gripping my fingers so tight—” He pressed said fingers against the spongy tissue of her front inner wall, and the orgasm ripped through her.

Immediately, he sealed his mouth over her clit to help work her through it. The waves overtook her almost violently, her body shaking with the force of the tremors running through it, starting from where his fingers were inside of her and spreading outwards to the tips of her fingers and toes.

Finally, the pulses slowed, and he raised his head to look at her face, keeping his fingers inside of her. His grin was self-satisfied, but she didn’t mind—he’d earned it.

She pushed herself to a sitting position and reached for his boxers, and they pushed them down together. Without any further preamble, she put her mouth on his cock, getting it as far in as she could do comfortably, and swallowed him up. He let out a groan and put his hand in her hair, careful not to push her head, just running the strands of her hair between his fingers. He was big and heavy inside her mouth, and she ran her tongue up the underside of his length, getting it nice and wet. She could feel his thighs trembling under her hands, could hear the soft pants and wordless pleas falling from his lips. 

She kept up a steady pace, bobbing her head back and forth and exploring him with her tongue and her fingers, encouraged by the sounds he made. Finally, he put a hand on her shoulder, nudging her back. 

Bobbi sat back on her haunches, licking her lips. He kept her hand on her arm, sliding it down the back of her arm to caress her tricep. With the other hand, he leaned over to pick up the condom from the pillow, then turned back to her. “Any special requests?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Lie down.”

He obeyed, getting onto his back, still giving her that loose, relaxed smile, like he had all the trust in the world in her. Her heart soared.

Bobbi leaned over him, placing a kiss on his warm, open lips. She nipped at his lower lip, then indicated the condom with her hand. “Get that on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once his cock was safely encased, he added a few strokes down the shaft for embellishment, until she climbed on top of him, and then he moved his hands to her hips as she lowered herself onto him. They both groaned as she sank down, taking his length into her body slowly, until she was fully seated, her thighs flush against his hips.

He felt so large inside of her, thick and full. She squeezed her inner muscles, and oh, God, she could feel it everywhere. 

“Go slow,” he said. “I want this to last.”

Taking a leap of faith, she said, “We only have forever,” and looked at him to see his reaction.

A huge smile broke over his face, and he took her face in his hands and brought her down for a deep kiss. Once they finished, he said, “You have no idea how happy I am that you said that.”

Her smile was so wide it hurt, but she couldn’t stop. To be so straightforward about what she wanted—she hadn't done that in ages, not since before Jaime Slade, before the Skrulls, before the Phantom Rider. But she'd lived through all that, survived it and climbed out of the rubble to reinvent herself as a fighter and a mentor. With all of it behind her, knowing that she'd lived through hell and come out on top gave her the courage to finally take some new risks.

“I just meant,” he continued after a minute, “I’m not as young as I was the last time we did this. Refractory periods and so on.”

“Ha.” She started to move, back and forth like she’d done earlier, but with him inside of her, it felt even better. “What’s that going to do to your reputation.”

He snorted. “Don’t tell anyone.” Looking up at her, he wet his lips with his tongue and asked, “Can we try something else? I want a little more control.”

“Sure.”

He sat up, getting one hand underneath her and the other around her back, and flipped them over so that she was in a halfway-reclining position against the headboard, her shoulder blades flat against the headboard and the rest of her body pulled in. Her core was strong enough to support herself in that position if necessary, but he grabbed a few pillows anyway and stuffed them behind her back, then sat back to look at her. “Comfortable?”

“Mmm.”

“Good.” He fit his forearms underneath her thighs, grabbed onto her ass, and pulled her onto him. The new position was good, better than good. His control was perfect, his aim sure as always. The head of his cock dragged against her front wall as he moved, hitting all the right spots.

Bobbi let her head fall back against the headboard as she absorbed herself in the feeling of being well-handled. God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“That’s amazing,” she ground out. “Feels so good.”

“So do you,” he said. “You feel incredible. God, you’re beautiful.”

She brought her head up and found him watching her reverently. Beautiful, sure. Her sweaty, naked body was completely on display this way, and it probably wasn’t the most flattering angle with her stomach scrunched up, and her breasts unsupported by any underwire or elastic, but fuck it—the best sex was usually ugly, anyway.

With her left hand, she reached out and grabbed hold of the back of his neck, bringing him close so that she could kiss him. Her hand moved down to her clit, rubbing it furiously in time with his thrusts. The room was filled with their grunts in between wet, sloppy kisses. She felt herself floating higher and higher as they moved faster and faster, until Clint came with a groan, setting her off as well. She latched onto his mouth with hers to keep from screaming, and he took everything she gave him, swallowing her shouts.

They collapsed into a ball, sweaty and shaking. Bobbi felt like she had just run five miles downhill and could keep going forever. Endorphins. Or love, whatever. She peeked at Clint, who looked like she felt.

“What was it you were saying about a refractory period?” she asked.

He laughed. “Doesn’t matter. I just realized there’s only one condom.”

“Ahhh.” As her pulse started to calm down, she realized that the sweat was making her uncomfortable. She rolled away from him, pulling the top sheet out from under the blanket, using it to wipe sweat away from her face and from underneath her breasts. “We should get going, anyway. Long drive ahead of us.”

“Yeah.” He disposed of the condom and stood up, picking up his discarded t-shirt. “Want to get breakfast with me on the way?”

“A date?” She grinned. “Why, Clint Barton, I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bobbi's post-serum growth spurt/growing pains, and the need for a new wardrobe, are inspired by the incomparable Tia's Bobbi Morse @ [brdied.tumblr.com](https://brdied.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments are love.


End file.
